Mismatched
by slash-luver
Summary: On the high sea or in the streets of Tortuga? As long as there is adventure, it matters not. One problem is both, Julia and Rute are hiding secrets that could make their friendship or break it. Will they tell or lead the other down the road of deception?


((Disclamer: I do not own POTC nor will I ever. I do not own the characters or the islands or have any rights to them. I wish I did own them, then again I always wish I had a chocolate chip cookie but I don't. Anyways, enjoy reading.))

Julia P.O.V ((Point Of View))

Julia, well Julias at the moment, stood at her (really his, but I am just going to write her out of habits) stand watching as a wench was dragged into the dark shadowed alley by a few men, seeming of noble class but one could never judge a person by what they wore. She didn't involve herself in matters that didn't concern her, and this was definitely a matter that didn't concern her. She had learned long ago that staying put was best. Especially when she is in charge of selling the fine swords of the blacksmith.

She runs her gloved fingers over the blade of one of the many fine swords. The gloves looked extremely old, and didn't seem to fit her right. They always slipped down, and she would have to stop what so was doing to pull them back up. But it was part of her outfit, and she couldn't just give them away so easily. A woman like her had to learn to fit in, and this place was one that didn't except her as Julia Fiend. Mostly because of what her and her brother did to this lovely town years ago.

Those years were full of happy memories of being at sea. But even then she had to take on the appearance of a man to be accepted. "A woman pirate." She mutters. "They ain't no such thing." She remembered the words of a cap'n. He had merely looked at her and spit in her face.

Yet that was not the worst thing. Others took her on, but made her do the jobs no one else wanted to do. They never let her hold a sword; her sword was a butcher's knife and her sentience, kitchen duty. She sighs thinking about those days. They were memories she would love to get rid of, but that was impossible. At the moment at least.

Her hand grips the blade tightly. Her anger having to find a way out, and the only way out she could think of was through her hand. The cold steal cuts into her hand, yet she made no sound. The warm crimson liquid drips from the wound getting all over the swords blade and on the cobblestone hearth on which she stood. She was careful though not to get any on her clothing. These were the only 'nice' clothes she had for Julias.

The clothes were warn and looked like they really needed to be replaced. Yet she didn't have the money to do that, working part time at the blacksmith as Julias and any other time belonged to the tavern. Where she worked as Julia Blanc. She made little money at either of those places, and she strongly thought of getting another job, which would wear her too thin. She already was worked to the bone, but taking on another job would end up being her end. She knew that but also knew that if she did not take on another job she would soon be out on the street, without food, water, or any sort of shelter.

She didn't know many people here, and none that could really be trusted or at least by her standards. Which after many years were increased with all the lies and corruption. The only people here she really knew were her few customers who liked her handiwork making swords, or the way she served a cold rum.   
Her eyes start to water as she pulls the blade out from its spot in her hand. Her mouth still remained closed, but a very soft moan escapes her lips. Which just causes her to clench her teeth, and hold in the tears. "You idiot." She hears the hard voice of the blacksmith behind her and she sighs. _Great now I am going to get in more trouble_, she thinks.

She turns staring the man in face. Her hat was pulled low hiding her too feminine eyes and face. Even though her face was covered in grim, she still looked too much like a female. Yet for the blacksmith, who I might say is half blind, she passed for a man...well a boy. "It slipped." She mutters in more of a man's voice. Something that took her years to get right, yet it still sounded off.

Then again it did fit her character well. She wasn't nearly as tall as a 'normal' man, and was skinnier than any man, and most women from lack of good food and illnesses that seemed to plague her. So she did take on the look of a boy who hasn't quite matured into a man. "It won't let it happen again." She says hoping this was the end, yet knew it wasn't.

"You're right you won't." He yells at her, ripping the sword from her hands. "You are fired." He glares at her with his cold black eyes. Yet she just stands there looking at him confused. "But why am I fired? This is the only mistake I made! I make fine swords you said so yourself. Said I was a special find!" She stops seeing the blacksmith shake his head.

"You can no longer work for me..._Miss_ Fiend." He mutters the last part. She takes a step back bumping into the table. As the table moves a few swords fall to the ground making a loud clanking noise, which attracted the eyes of a few people in the crowd. Her eyes were wide with surprise and utter shock. "What did you call me?" She asks, her voice soft yet threatening. This was something she was not ready for, and never could be ready for. How in the world could he have known, it was impossible. Unless.., she thinks. "That bastard." She says barely above a whisper.

"You should leave." He turns away from her and wipes the blood off the sword. She nods dumbstruck. Never had anyone been so nice to her, surely there was a large price on her pretty little head. She takes a few slow steps then starts to run down the street. Her still bleeding hand goes up to her hat as she runs. She didn't want to lose that, at the moment it seemed to be her only protection from the world.

She stops running as soon as she reaches the soldiers. She stares at the ground, stuffing her hands into her pants pockets. "What a lovely day." She says, her voice shaking lightly yet still held its boyish tint. She tilts her hat in greeting to the soldiers and to the young male that stood talking to them. He looked to be a noble by the way he was dressed. Blonde dreads of hair were tied back in a ponytail, neat, trim, proper. The handsome face, very handsome face, seemed washed, removed of any dirt and stains might have bore at one time or another. The clothing was clean also, a little too clean for one wandering the streets of Port Royale. A clean white linen shirt was worn, along with trousers of a dark brown, slightly scuffed at the hem. She paid close attention to detail, one had to to survive.

And in doing so she noticed the not as new looking crepuscular shaded brown over-coat, which had a slight tare in the bottom corner but nothing too terribly noticeable. She nods to the male and continues on not even bothering to see if he nodded back do her, like most men did to each other during this time.

She continues on her way, not noticing the male was staring at her back as she went. She just needed to get out of there and the harbor seemed the best choice for the moment.

Now that you have read, please review! All comments are welcomed and appreciated; good, bad, or ugly.


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